


Beer Bad (very bad)

by snowpuppies



Series: (Very Bad) Verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Black Comedy, Crack, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/F, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies





	Beer Bad (very bad)

  


**Title** : Beer Bad (very bad)  
 **Author** : [](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**snowpuppies**](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Fandom** : BtVS/Ats  
 **Character/Pairing** : Fred/Anyanka  
 **Genre** : Black Comedy (or as [](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**velvetwhip**](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/) puts it: Evil Crack)  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Highlight for Warnings** : **dub-(moving toward non-)consensual sex, body transformation**  
[Disclaimer and Distribution Information](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/profile)  
 **Summary** : Following a rough breakup, Fred gets drunk.  
 **Word Count** : 3,248  
 **Recc'ed** : [here](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/950210.html) by [](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**velvetwhip**](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **x-posted to** : [](http://btvs-ats-femmeslash.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**btvs_ats_femmeslash**](http://btvs-ats-femmeslash.dreamwidth.org/) , [](http://kinda-gay.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinda_gay**](http://kinda-gay.livejournal.com/) , [](http://buffyfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**buffyfic**](http://buffyfic.livejournal.com/) , [](http://the-buffyverse.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**the_buffyverse**](http://the-buffyverse.dreamwidth.org/)

 **A/N** : for [](http://snogged.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**snogged**](http://snogged.dreamwidth.org/) , who requested: "Anya/Fred, She blinded me with science..." Hope you don't mind the switch from Anya to Anyanka, hon.

Beta'd by [](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**velvetwhip**](http://velvetwhip.dreamwidth.org/) , who held my hand and called it evil (crack).

 

 

  
**Beer Bad  
(very bad)**

 

Fred sniffles, blowing her nose on another tissue before wadding it up and stuffing it into her pocket.

"I'll have another."

The bartender eyes her warily; she tries her best to look sober. In a moment, another bottle clinks down on the bar. Fred tilts it back and chugs half the contents. A belch rattles up through her chest and out her mouth.

She's heard of drowning your sorrows, but she wonders if maybe she missed a step, because all the beer seems to be doing is loosening her tear ducts and giving her gas.

Her head falls to the bar with a thunk. She hates beer. She hates life. And she hates Tommy Jenkins.

 

***

 

Anyanka slams back a third shot of tequila before pushing away from the bar, leaving the guy who's footing the bill hanging. She ignores his protest; he's scum, anyways. They all are.

She steps out into the humid Texas evening and closes her eyes.

The pain and suffering of so many women is practically tangible, zinging off her skin like electricity, tainting the air with the copper taste of pennies and blood. Her senses are filled with deliciously tangy misery and, grinning, she follows.

She's been in the state for about three weeks now, and if there's one thing she can say about Texas women, it's that, on the whole, they're not shy about revenge. Truth be told, sometimes they're a little too specific about their wishes for Anyanka's tastes. She's had so many wishes to "cut off his balls" that things are getting a little boring; it's not as if wishes like those are open to much interpretation.

Still, she feels that tonight will be...different.

Anyanka finds the girl—and she is a girl, no more than 16 if she's a day—stumbling out the back door of a local bar—the kind that doesn't card, obviously, since there's no way anyone believes the big-eyed slip of a girl is legal.

But they don't have to be legal to wish.

Her demon-face melts as she approaches.

 

***

 

"Hey, are you alright?"

Fred looks up at the owner of a voice, another girl, maybe a little bit older than her. Probably wiser, too. Probably wouldn't fall for Tommy Jenkins's stupid lines like a complete dunce. Probably doesn't know what it's like to always stick out: too smart, too skinny, too shy, too stupid to talk to boys or girls or...anybody, really.

"Hon, are you okay?"

The voice is asking again. Oh. She didn't answer. She probably should.

"Yeah," she groans out, slumping against the woman's shoulder as her stomach lurches. She shouldn't have had that last beer. She might just puke, and wouldn't that be the icing on the cake? But then, if her life was a cake, it'd be lopsided and crumbly, and instead of icing, she'd have...well, something gross.

More like her life's a cow pie, anyways.

"...get you home?"

The woman's been talking while she's been musing. That happens.

"No. I'm okay. I think. Just... _sucks_."

"What's happened?"

"Tommy J—Jenkins." She sniffs, and then doubles over as her guts tie in a knot and she vomits in the grass. Well, at least she missed that nice lady's shoes.

"Oh!" The woman pulls Fred's hair back as she coughs and sputters.

"Thanks." She wipes her mouth on her sleeve. "'M sorry 'bout that. Momma would have my hide, she knew I did that."

"It's no problem. We've all been there, honey."

The nice lady helps her straighten up, smoothing her hair and adjusting her jacket. She tries to smile, but figures it comes out looking more like a grimace than anything.

"'M Fred."

"You can call me Anya. Look, Fred, why don't we go get a cup of coffee? You don't want to go home like this."

"I...Yeah. Sounds nice."

 

***

 

"...and then h-he said we were better off as friends!" the sobbing girl wails, dripping snot and tears and wiping away at her face with the disgusting sleeve of her jacket.

If she shuts her eyes, the girl's pain smells so _delicious_. It's too bad she has to maintain eye contact to close the deal.

"What a jerk."

"And the thing is, I really liked him. And I thought he liked me, but all he wanted...all he wanted was...was...And I should have known. I mean, Momma always told me 'why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?', but I never believed it would really happen in real life. And not with Tommy. I mean, he waited, for like, four months, and that's a long time. Isn't that a long time?"

"Definitely." Anyanka rubs her temples, sure the conversation will _never_ end. "Don't you just wish...?"

"And now everybody knows, and I can't go to school tomorrow. But I can't skip! I've got an English test during third period and I studied and everything and I've gotta get good grades if I wanna get in a good college and if I don't, I'll have to be a waitress in a diner outside of town and I'll never go anywhere!"

"And it's all that stupid boy's fault. Don't you wish you could get even?"

"Yeah. I wish..." Anyanka's heart rate picks up as Fred sniffles and wipes at her nose again with that damned sleeve. Any moment...

"Oh my gosh, is that the time?" The girl's eyes pop open as she glances at her watch. "I'm so sorry, Miss Anya, but I've gotta go. If I'm not home on time, Momma'll skin me like a mud cat headed toward a fryin' pan."

"But..."

"Look, you've been real nice, and I'd love to make it up to you." Anyanka blinks as the girl dives into her bag and produces a scrap of paper and a pen, bending over the counter to scribble across the surface. "I've gotta do some lab work tomorrow afternoon if you'd like to come—you like chemistry? But anyhow, there's the address if ya wanna come. We could maybe do something after, if you like."

Anyanka takes the paper and watches Fred scramble out the door. She growls and tips her coffee up like a shot. Should have had more tequila. A whole evening wasted with nothing to show for it. Still, she thinks as she looks at the slip of paper in her hand, she's got an open invitation to try again.

 

***

 

Fred measures out the acetic acid carefully, then sets it up to titrate slowly into the Erlenmeyer flask below. Her hands shake a little. She's not nervous about the chemicals, just wondering if Anya's going to show up. She's not really sure what possessed her to invite an older girl, probably in _college_ , from the looks of her, to a high school laboratory. She surely has better things to do than hang out with a geeky high school girl who can't even keep a boyfriend.

At the same time, though, there was something about the way Anya looked at her, the way she was really paying attention, that made Fred remember what it felt like to have a friend. But she isn't gonna count her chickens before they hatch, no sirree. She knows better.

But she'd really like to have a friend again.

Just as she's ready to heat the mixture over a Bunsen burner, slowly swirling until the contents begin to bubble and change a light blue, there's a knock on the door.

"It's open!" she yells, unable to look away from her task.

 

***

 

Anyanka charms a janitor into giving her directions and soon finds herself nearing the chem lab. Her nose wrinkles at the stench; it almost drowns out Fred's lovely sorrow.

She checks her appearance at the door, fingers tracing her features to make sure the human face is to the fore, then straightening the short, pleated skirt and artfully arranging her breasts to make sure enough cleavage is showing. She doesn't intend for this to take long. It better not, she thinks as she pastes on a smile and knocks on the door. She's put way too much into this job to go away unsatisfied.

The girl—Fred—is at one of the benches, gigantic goggles covering half her face, gloved hands waving a little glass bottle over an open flame.

"Hi, Fred."

"Oh!" Fred plops the flask down on the table and smiles. "Anya! I hoped you'd come, but you know, I wasn't sure, seein' as how I had to run last night and all. I'm just about ready to decant this and then I'll pop a cork in and we'll be ready to go. Do you like tacos? 'M only askin' because they make Momma's stomach do flip-flops and I almost never get ta eat them, but we can go wherever you like."

Anyanka just nods; inside she's feeling a headache coming on.

 

***

 

"You seem to be feeling better today," Anya comments.

"Oh, yeah. Loads." Fred says as she begins carefully pouring the top layer of liquid into another glass tube. "Guess I just needed to get it outta my system an' all. Ya know, I'm real sorry about all my whinin' last night. Just didn't know what to do with myself, and havin' all that beer didn't help matters none."

"It was my pleasure. Let's just say I've met my fair share of 'Tommy's' in my time."

"Huh." Fred's brows draw into a frown. Who woulda thought a girl as pretty as Anya could have the same guy problems as gangly, geeky Winifred Burkle?

"Don't you ever just wish...?" Anya asks, leaning over the table to look closer.

"I guess." Fred snaps out of her daze and continues to pour. "Momma always says that if wishes were horses, we'd all be at the rodeo."

"There's nothing wrong with wishing, you know."

"Yeah. It's just—" She stops mid-sentence as she fumbles the test tube and some of the compound falls into the open container of magnesium. Her brain whirls as she calculates the reaction. Realization dawns just as the mixture begins to fizzle and she falls to the floor—"Ohmigod, close your eyes!"—and covers her head.

The light is bright, even behind her fingertips, and when Anya screams, Fred knows she's in big trouble.

 

***

 

Anyanka doesn't have time to process the warning before it explodes. The whole room flashes with a light so bright it's all she can see.

She blinks. Again and again and again.

"—move. We need to get to the wash station." Fred's whiny voice breaks through the static in her head, even as she begins to comprehend that she can't _see_.

The little cunt has blinded her.

Reeling, she allows fragile hands to guide her, the pair stumbling around and over lab stools, until Anyanka feels Fred push against her back until she's bent over...then water squirts into her eyes. She jerks back in shock.

"It's alright. It's just water. You're gonna be okay, alright? I sent Mr. Clemmens to call for an ambulance, so just sit tight."

"What," sputtering through the water, Anyanka finds her voice, "What did you do to me?"

"Uhm. It was the magnesium. I think that mixing the compound with the neutralizing agent sorta un-neutralized it? I'm so, so sorry. I'm gonna make sure you're okay."

Soft hands stroke through Anyanka's hair. Her vision is starting to clear; she can just make out the outline of the wash basin.

"Oh, god. Where's the ambulance?" Fred's babble cuts through her thoughts. "Just hang in there. Oh. I wish there was somethin' I could do to make it better."

Anyanka doesn't hesitate. She's been working for hours on this wish; she'll take what she can get.

"Done."

 

***

 

Her head's gone all funny—blurry vision and nausea—and something feels...out of sorts between her legs. Fred blinks into the grayness and takes in a nondescript bedroom: taupe walls, a cheap plain-faced clock on the wall, and an open doorway that appears to lead into a bathroom. The whoosh of running water drowns out the thumping in her skull. She convinces her arms to move and realizes she's on a bed.

"Hello? Where'm I?" she calls into the darkness.

A figure emerges from the bathroom. It's Anya, but there's something wrong with her face. Oh, god! The accident was worse that she'd realized.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry." The words fall from her lips as she squirms, trying to sit up.

"Don't worry," Anya says, as she begins unbuttoning her blouse. "You're going to make it up to me, remember?"

 _Make it up? Unbuttoning her blouse?_ She's not sure what in the name of John Deere is going on, but she must've bumped her head on the way down earlier, 'cause she's in a strange room with a strange woman—who's just taken off her bra!—and she can't seem to move and she's supposed to make _what_ up?

"I've spent way too long on you, and you couldn't make just one little decent wish. And the only thing that's half as good as a wish of vengeance is good," she unbuttons her skirt, "hard," and unzips it, "sex," and Anya's skirt hits the floor. "And since you've injured me, you're just going to have to do."

Fred increases her struggle. She manages to get an elbow planted on the mattress and pushes herself into a half-sitting position just as a naked— _naked!_ —Anya steps forward and grabs—

She jerks up at the shock, slumping back against the mattress at the strange sensitivity and pleasure begins to radiate outward from her groin where Anya's...

Wait. What is Anya doing again?

She peers down between the valley of her breasts and nearly passes out again. There, in between her legs, is a...a...

Fred falls back to the bed, wide eyes praying silently to the ceiling that this is some bizarre dream, because Winifred Burkle does _not_ have a penis.

 

***

 

The bitch whimpers as Anyanka jerks her into hardness. She doesn't know what the girl is complaining about; it's a lovely specimen, thick and rosy-red and just the right size. Anyanka should know, she's seen a few in her time. The girl's new genatalia fills out nicely, indifferent to its owner's distress.

Anyanka climbs onto the bed, pulling the brat's shorts down far enough that the zipper won't catch on her tender skin, then straddles skinny hips and sinks down.

"What are you...?" Fred lurches from her position, arms flailing, fingers reflexively clutching at Anyanka's hips.

"Shhh." Anyanka murmurs, head lolling back as she begins to rock, eyes closing in pleasure as she manipulates Fred's body into hitting. all. the. right. places. Lurching forward, she knots her fingers in Fred's hair and pulls, pressing her breast against full lips. "Suck."

"But I—"

She presses forward and her nipple slides between Fred's lips.

"I didn't ask for commentary. This is your fault, you wanted to make it up to me, and you're going to. So _suck_."

 

***

 

Anya's nipple is hard and cool against Fred's mouth, and her...vagina is hot and wet and...ohmygod, she really does have a penis, and it's thrusting—completely without her consent—into Anya's body. She doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to escape this crazy dream, and it's one thing being tossed onto the bed and being ridden like a prize steer at the state fair, but it's another entirely to participate—never mind that her fingers are still clenched around Anya's hips, and her toes are curling into the duvet each time she thrusts, but sucking on another woman's breasts? Out of the question.

Although, okay, she's thought about it once or twice, when her chem teacher wore that sweater—the blue one with the little flowers embroidered along the hem—but it's one thing to think about, and another to do. Of course, Anya does have a point, she did blind the girl, after all, and it's just a little sucking. Really, it's just skin...in a different shape, and it doesn't really _mean_ anything if she does it, right?

"Unh!" Long fingernails scrape against her scalp and Anya's pulling her hair, pushing her closer and closer, and without really thinking about it, her lips close over the distended flesh and she gives a tentative suck.

She was right. It just tastes like skin. But with the way Anya's moaning, her hips bucking more wildly, hands spasming against the nape of Fred's neck, she thinks it's more than just skin to Anya. And as she begins to suckle in earnest, flicking her tongue against the tip, the strangest sensation begins to travel along her spine, up the back of her neck and blossoming across the top of her head, only to explode back down her body and into her groin, and _oh!_ , her hips jerk and she feels like her whole being is pulsing out through her...between her legs, and it's too good and it's horrible and wonderful and it's a dream she wishes would never end and it's a dream she wishes she never had, because nothing will ever feel...

 

***

 

Someone is talking to her. It's a voice she knows, so she pulls herself from slumber, blinking the grey out of her eyes.

"—go on home, sugah. Your momma's bound to have a fit, you don't show up on time."

Fred sits up. The dim lighting and acrid smell of her Aunt Maggie's bar fill her senses. A half-drunk bottle—her third, if she recalls correctly—is on the bar in front of her, the edges of the label peeling away from the glass.

She looks up into Maggie's concerned eyes.

"Now don't you spend another minute worrying about that boy, you hear? You're too good for the likes of him, no matter how you shake it."

"Thanks Aunt Maggie." She smiles; she does feel better, all of a sudden. And as for that crazy dream...well, now she understands why her daddy always says heartbreak and alcohol don't mix.

She grabs her backpack from beneath the barstool and stumbles out the back door, and if she walks a little funny, she's sure it's from falling asleep on that hard seat.

Absolutely nothing to worry about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _FIN_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/287996.html).


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